


This One I Shall Choose

by RebrandedBard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Quiet Pining, hankerchiefs are the best token of affection, polish nursery rhymes, the exact moment geralt falls in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebrandedBard/pseuds/RebrandedBard
Summary: Geralt falls in the river fishing for a djinn and winds up soaked. Jaskier sees the opportunity to do as his mother told him a long time ago and takes the first step when he offers Geralt his handkerchief.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 42
Kudos: 615





	This One I Shall Choose

Geralt tossed aside the empty net in frustration. A day of fishing and the net had come up empty. No djinn. Fuck it all, it’d be another night without sleep. To make matters worse, he’d slipped in the mud and fallen into the river. Now he was soaking wet, wide awake, and more frustrated than before he’d started. And now evening was creeping on the horizon in the west, and bumbling through the brush in that same direction came a familiar face.

He sighed and shook his dripping hands. “Jaskier, hand me something to dry off with. I’ve got a spare shirt in my bag.”

"Hello to you too, Geralt." Jaskier said. He knew Geralt wasn't one for pleasantries, but it wouldn't kill him to say a greeting now and again when their paths collided. An acknowledgment that he'd suddenly appeared would be only decent, but as ever, it was as if he'd never left. Here Geralt was, either ready to be rid of him or ready to carry on as if he'd never left. He could never be sure which.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “Do you mean to dry off with it?” he asked. “In all the years I’ve know you, you’ve never owned more than two shirts at a time. Now use that clever brain of yours to tell me this: what will you change into if you dry yourself with your only change of clothes?”

Geralt grunted. He’d worry about that later. For now, he just wanted to get rid of the mud and river scum leaking down his face. "Bag, bard."

Jaskier tutted and marched to where it sat on the gnarly roots of a tree. He knelt down and began rummaging through it. "Would it kill you to ask politely? Or to use a few more words, for the matter. A 'please' or 'thank you' now and then wouldn't go amiss." He was making a mess of the bag's contents, setting aside potions and bottles of witchers knew what, flints, knives—all the trappings of Geralt's life. He found the spare shirt and set it neatly aside. He rummaged more, determined to find something more suitable. Only five minutes he'd wandered back onto the witcher's path and he was being ordered around as if he'd not been gone on his own for weeks. But that was how it was between them. And as always, he'd oblige in his own way. The better way, really. How Geralt managed to take care of himself all these years he'd never know.

"Haven't you got anything else to use? A blanket or handkerchief, maybe? I can't have you shivering for an hour while I wash your things."

Geralt was already feeling the bite of the wind. It wasn't intolerable, but it _was_ annoying. If he'd simply crawled up the bank and fetched it himself, he'd be dry by now. Relatively. He splashed his face with water, cleaning the mud away. Might as well do something while he waited.

Jaskier heard the splashing and peeked over the edge of the riverbank. "Having a bath?"

"Mud."

"Not as if you can get any wetter. Well, go on, and be sure to clean your hair while you're at it. I know how you carry on when I'm gone. I'll get things ready in the meantime." Then his head disappeared back over the side and Geralt heard him mutter, "Spare shirt, indeed," before he ducked his head under the water again. It felt much less cold to be in the water than out where to wind blew anyway. Maybe he might stub his toe on the djinn's bottle if he stayed long enough to clean up. He was desperate for a good night's sleep. It'd been weeks.

Before long, Jaskier was calling his name.

When Geralt rose out of the water, the first thing he smelled was smoke. Climbing up the driest part of the bank, he could see a fire going in the middle of a small clearing of dirt. Jaskier was just packing up his flint when he approached. He noticed Jaskier had hung up his doublet on a broken branch. He was down to his shirtsleeves, and these he'd rolled nicely above the elbow.

"Good. Not how I'd have you, but better than when I saw you. I believe I'll have that 'thank you' now, or that 'good to see you, how are you' I've been waiting on."

"Hm."

Jaskier held up his hands mockingly. "Enough, Geralt, you're smothering me, please."

Geralt looked at him, then flicked his hand in his face. Jaskier yelped as water hit his eyes, and Geralt walked past him toward the fire. He leaned down and grabbed his shirt where it'd been laid aside. He saw his open bag right where he'd left it, all the things shoved back inside. He'd have to reorder it all again. At least the shirt was out for him.

Jaskier had sufficiently recovered in time to watch with disappointment as Geralt used the shirt to wipe his face dry. "I considered fetching the blanket from your bedroll, but it wasn't with your bag and I couldn't find Roach anywhere. She wouldn't come when I called her either."

Geralt lowered the shirt from his face and whistled. Roach's head poked out from the foliage several yards away. She had a mouthful of grass and looked content to stand where she was. And there was the bedroll on her back, tied to the saddle.

"Ah. I don't suppose she'll ever come to listen to me, will she." Jaskier had long since lost that battle. In fact, he had the idea in his head that Roach liked to tease him. He was right, of course, but there was no way to prove it.

He turned back to Geralt. "Alright. Off with it. Let's have it over," he said. He grabbed the dry shirt with one hand and held out the other expectantly.

Geralt passed Jaskier the dry shirt to free up his hands, then sat before the fire and dragged the soggy, clinging shirt up over his head. His hair clung to his face in a mess when he came free of it, and he passed a hand through it. Water flowed down into the dirt below. He had a fine puddle of mud beneath him already. Jaskier meaningfully tapped a large rock with his foot. Geralt got up to sit on it, out of the growing puddle.

Jaskier snatched the muddy shirt and draped it in the crook of his elbow. His hand was still waiting.

Geralt groaned. He'd just sat down.

"Come on, hurry up. The sooner you get out of those, the sooner they'll be washed."

"They're fine."

"Geralt, I can see the mud up to your knees. You can fetch a blanket in the meantime if you're cold."

With another sigh, Geralt stood. He shucked off his boots. He then worked the wet buttons of his trousers and shimmied free of them. He stood bare before the fire for half a minute while Jaskier got in his way, gathering up his discarded things. When Jaskier got everything together and got out from underfoot, he tossed Geralt the dry shirt before scurrying to the riverside. Geralt slipped it over his still soaked hair. His shoulders were black with water in a minute, but it was drier than the other shirt had been. He rested by the fire then, exhausted. Jaskier was pushy, but washing up was one less thing he'd have to do with him volunteering. Besides, the fire was warm.

"So!" Jaskier called from below the bank. "What were you doing in the river anyway? Did you lose a fight with the world's largest catfish or did Roach finally get tired and push you in?"

"Can't sleep. I'm looking for a djinn."

Jaskier's head shot up over the bank, his eyes wide. "A dj—a djinn? Like a genie? Come in a bottle and all? Seems a bit much for a case of insomnia."

"Probably not even there. Working off a rumor."

"Well that's a shame." Jaskier's head ducked back down again as he returned to his work. "Once you've had your three, I have a few wishes I'd like to have granted myself. Some with a bit more thought than 'I'd like a nice little nap'."

"Like what?"

Geralt was staring into the fire now. His mouth was moving and what it said was none of his business. His mind was busy among the flames, dancing hypnotically before his tired eyes. So simple things like conversational responses were leaking from the back of his mind out through the front of his teeth. Had he been paying any attention at all, he would've seen Jaskier's head emerge once more to look at him.

It was quiet for a moment. The flames cracked. Jaskier had halted in his ministrations.

Geralt was about to turn, brought back to himself by the stretch of silence from his chatty companion, when he heard a rather sudden, rather loud bark of laughter. It was awkward and not as sincere as Jaskier's usual laugh. It seemed more to fill the space than to answer to anything.

"I'd have the djinn strike down my rivals, of course. Valdo Marx, in particular. Then I should have back every lover who ever scorned me. I was with one just before you had the returned pleasure of my company. Went wonderfully well, thank you for asking. She's left me, and I fear I shall die a broken-hearted man."

There was a violent splash from the river and the sound of vigorous scrubbing as he reset about his task with renewed passion.

Geralt huffed through the nose. One could hardly call it a laugh, but it was something. He could hear the indignity in the way Jaskier flung water about. "That's two." he said. "You've got one more."

The splashing grew quieter, more contemplative. While he waited, Geralt became aware of the water running through his hair. He picked up the bottom hem of his shirt and bent over to wring his hair with it. He heard footsteps approach behind him.

"Perhaps I'd wish for some appreciation from you for a change, or maybe some better manners," Jaskier replied. "Here. You can wring these out before hanging them over the fire. They'll still take awhile to dry. I'd seriously consider fetching that blanket if I were you." He looked pointedly toward the intimate bareness exposed by Geralt's raised hem.

"I'll keep that in mind," Geralt said. He let his hair fall and flicked his hands. He was decent once more.

Jaskier leaned over. Draped on one arm, he held the freshly washed clothes. Carried in his hand, Geralt's boots. He raised one above Geralt's head and emptied it, full of water, right in the middle. His hair was thoroughly soaked afresh, and the shirt to go with it.

"That's for flicking at me earlier." He grinned and dropped the boots by his feet, laying the clothes in Geralt's lap. Then he was off to fetch the discarded fishing net and get it hanging over the fire.

Geralt flicked pointlessly in his direction before mopping at his face with a lazy hand. He'd just gotten himself in a comfortable doze. Not as if he'd expected anything to come of it, but even the false promise of sleep was welcome at this point. He moodily began to comb and wring his hair out again.

Jaskier returned and tied the net between two trees, spreading out the four corners so it hung flat and taught above the flames. "That's one corner ... that's two ... four corners in al l... " He paused briefly and chuckled, his hands poised around a branch. Then he was busy tying the rope again, but now, as he worked, he hummed to himself.

"Hm hm ... at four cor-ners ... hm hm _hm_ hm, hm hm _hm ..._ da dum on the _floor_ , sir."

Now, Geralt was used to Jaskier talking to the air and making a nuisance of himself humming, singing, and whistling as he invented new verses and songs, but this was different than his usual half-nonsense prattling. When he was thinking up a new rhyme, he usually repeated a few words back and forth, comparing them. When he was singing rather than composing, he sang every word or made up whatever lyrics he couldn't remember. He wasn't one to switch between singing and humming. This was a familiar tune to him. Geralt heard it in the way he hummed and could see it in the slight nodding of his head as he bobbed to the rhythm of the song. After a moment of listening, the song started to feel familiar to him too.

"What is that?" he asked.

Jaskier stopped. He was just tying the last corner. "What? This?" He pulled the net and let it bounce away from his fingers, now securely in place. "I told you; we're going to hang your things here to dry." Saying so, he walked back to Geralt's side. He grabbed the shirt from the pile on Geralt's lap and began wringing it out.

"The _song_ , Jaskier."

"Oh."

Jaskier shook the shirt out and tossed it over the net. "It's a song my mother used to sing when I was little. I never remembered to bring a handkerchief with me—a trait you seem to share. I was always rubbing my nose on my sleeves and making a mess of myself. Oh don't look at me that way, we were all young and without standards once. Now hand me those trousers. Thank you." He spread them out over the net, not missing a beat as he went on talking. "I couldn't be bothered with such unromantic details as remembering handkerchiefs when I was busy in the noble task of chasing imaginary dragons around the woods all day. So my mother decided to appeal to me the way she knew would work best."

"With a song," Geralt concluded, amused.

"With a song," Jaskier agreed. He wiped his wet hands on his shirt and took a seat on a dry patch of dirt by the fire. "She would hold a handkerchief up by two corners and make it dance as she sang, then she'd turn it by each corner in time to the words. I liked it so much, I carried one with me everywhere after I'd learned the song. She embroidered it special for me. Whenever I wanted, I could take it out, sing the song, and make it dance. I was very, _very_ small, mind you, and easily amused then. Looking back, she was quite the cunning old woman for doing what she did. I applaud her now, as I never forget my handkerchief in all my travels. Of course, it did backfire in its own way. It was much too nice for me to put it to its intended purpose so I ended up using my sleeves regardless. I have to carry a spare one to keep it from getting soiled. It's a token these days. A little memory for my pocket to hold."

Geralt looked at Jaskier, his face glowing in the fading light. There was a nostalgic smile on his face: a quieter sort of smile he was privy to now and then. It was a smile he thought of more than once on peaceful days when Jaskier's absence was more noticeable. It was not a great many people who smiled around witchers, so what few he saw stuck in his memory. Maybe a few in particular.

"Show me."

Jaskier stole a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well. Perhaps there _was_ a djinn here after all. Are you asking me to _sing_ , Geralt?"

"Hm." Geralt grunted. He was not about to dignify that with a proper response. Nor would he be made to ask again.

Jaskier's eyes were shining regardless. "Shall I fetch my lute, then? A request at last! I couldn't possibly refuse, not from such a good friend as you; not when you ask so little. I shall make note of this day so I never forget that Geralt of Rivia asked _me_ to sing him a song. Oh, where did I set it down? By my doublet, I'm sure. Oh, now I'm all turned around and excited, see what a state you've put me in? Perhaps if you asked more often—"

"Forget the lute," Geralt mumbled. "You need both hands to ... make it _dance_ , you said. What does that mean?" It was ridiculous, but Jaskier had smiled so sweetly, he'd been curious. Of course, now he was starting to regret it as Jaskier began to kick up a fuss.

Jaskier halted in his flurry and turned back to Geralt. His cheeks were slightly pink, and it had nothing to do at all with the rosy firelight. He cleared his throat. "Must I? Make it dance, I mean."

Jaskier was flustered. _Excellent_ , Geralt thought. When Jaskier was flustered, he forgot how to tease. He felt less embarrassed by his request now, and more confident in pushing forward with it. He leaned forward attentively. "Yes," he said.

Jaskier seemed now to remember perfectly well where his doublet was hanging. He walked slowly to it, looking over his shoulder, and ran a hand into the lining pocket. From it he fetched the aforementioned handkerchief. The sun was lower now, too low to catch a good look from where Jaskier stood in the shadow of the tree. But Jaskier was by his side once more within a few shy steps.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting. No, he'd been expecting something gaudier. He'd expected silk and fine, shining threads, bold, complex patterns, and delicately embroidered borders. What Jaskier placed in his hands was an ordinary white linen handkerchief with simple flowers in a circle. It was plain and pretty. A humble thing, really. It looked like something you might find poking out of the sewing basket of an ordinary villager's wife. The flowers themselves weren't even of a bold variety; they were common wildflowers. And a single pinecone.

Geralt handed it carefully back. "It's nice," he said. But it was much more than that.

Jaskier smiled that gentle smile as he accepted the handkerchief. "It is," he replied. "In a way, the nicest thing I own." He admired it awhile as the silence went on between them. He turned it in the firelight, ran his hands over the stitches.

As he did, Geralt did his own admiring.

Then Jaskier took two corners and began to sing. Quietly, between the two of them, he made the handkerchief dance.

_"Here's my little handkerchief,_

_Embroidered at four cor-ners,_

_If I find the one I like,_

_I'll drop it on the floor, sir."_

The handkerchief 'danced' by bobbing to the tune left and right. Left-left, right-right, as Jaskier sang. Jaskier held the two corners as one might hold a child's hand when teaching them how to dance. He looked at the little square of cloth just as affectionately, too. Then, he began to turn it, one corner at a time.

_"Is it this one, is it that one?_

_None of these will do, sir!_

_Maybe this one, surely that one,_

_This one I will choose, sir!"_

He got to the final corner and the handkerchief was right-side up once more. He glanced at Geralt, his expression soft. "My mother told me to take good care of my handkerchief. It was a present not just for me, but for me to give away someday. I was to keep it safe until I found the one I chose."

"Chose for what?" Geralt asked, his voice a hush. They'd been speaking quietly, nearly whispering, as if the song were a secret to be shared.

Jaskier looked him in the eye.

Geralt waited silently.

"You're dripping," Jaskier said at last, as a drop of water rolled down Geralt's cheek.

Geralt wiped it away, and the in moment he was distracted, Jaskier had slipped off. Geralt turned in his spot to watch him and spotted Jaskier walking toward Roach. It was getting late and he considerately set about taking off her saddle for the night. Roach snorted appreciatively, having been forgotten by Geralt during his long search for the djinn, and left to carry his things. When Jaskier returned, he brought with him Geralt's bedroll. He set up the bed a comfortable distance from the fire.

"There. All that's missing is a bit of something to tide us over until breakfast." He stood with his hands on his hips, looking satisfied. Then he brushed past Geralt and rummaged through his bag to fill that final need. "Check the line, see how it's going," he called.

The calm spell was broken and Geralt sighed. He stretched up and felt his clothes, found them dry, and began redressing. He was still damp, his hair in particular, and he did what he could with his spare shirt. It wasn't much. His fresh shirt was warm and comfortable until his hair touched it. It seemed he'd have to live with wet shoulders awhile longer.

He sat again before the fire with a sigh. He went over the song again in his head, nearly hummed it as he watched the flames dance. It was a simple, charming song. Calming. Warm, tired, and lulled, he had hope that he might finally find sleep tonight. Then he caught the faintest whiff of lavender as something fluttered over his eyes.

"You'll catch cold if you leave your hair like that," Jaskier said above him. "Dry yourself off before you go to sleep. I'll be taking the bedroll in exchange for my generous toil on your behalf."

Geralt reached up and plucked the foreign object off his face. In his hand, as if it quite belonged, was the handkerchief.

Geralt watched as Jaskier settled himself comfortably down in the bedroll and closed his eyes. Then, he smiled. He tucked the handkerchief carefully in his pocket and came up beside him. He lay on the ground behind Jaskier and draped a drowsy arm over his hip. He felt Jaskier tense and heard the breath catch in his lungs. Geralt opened one eye and caught the pink tip of a blushing ear. He pushed his nose up behind it, rested there a moment, then shifted comfortably to bury his nose in Jaskier's hair the rest of the night, taking a long draw of calming lavender.

 _Ah._ That's what he'd been missing all these weeks.

"I'm keeping it, by the way," Geralt rumbled as sleep finally began to settle over him. "No getting it back now."

Jaskier nestled in and tugged Geralt's arm closer. "I didn't intend to," he replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post from imweakmylove on tumblr: https://imweakmylove.tumblr.com/post/190937585455/ive-been-thinking-about-polishjaskier-and-a
> 
> Art from my sideblog:  
> https://rebrandedbard.tumblr.com/post/613504992669777920/a-far-leap-works-art-he-caught-the-faintest
> 
> I know it's not my usual work, but I've gotten really into the witcher lately. I have another fic planned for it already. For those of you who subscribe to me for yugioh stuff, don't you worry. I never leave anything unfinished.


End file.
